Alohoanimo
by ThePerfectPenName
Summary: … It all comes back to those eyes. Those stormy grey eyes. I remember dreaming about them and their owner, on earlier occasions… After having suffered a tremendous loss of memories, she struggles to keep her life together as strange dreams hunt her almost daily. Spin-off of my own oneshot "The dream diary".
1. Chapter 1

Dear diary

Isn't that how you are supposed to begin? Dear diary? Well, here I am. Giving this 'diary thing' a shot.

I'm having difficulties on where to start… Honestly, I never thought of myself as someone who would _write a diary_. But then again, I never thought I would be someone who visits a shrink, and yet - that is exactly what I am doing. Visiting a shrink and keeping a diary because she recommended it. I'm sure I sound a lot more cheerful than I actually am, which is, obviously, a defence mechanism. My life is a mess. The problem is, that I don't really know why, and maybe that is the part that freaks me out the most. I like order, I like structure and I prefer to know instead of to feel, but lately feeling is all I do, and it is all because of those blasted dreams.

My shrink said that I am an extraordinary dreamer. But aren't dreams just dreams? That's what I always thought. But no! Apparently my dreams are especially "_imaginative" _and "_lifelike"_. I always thought that this is what dreams are supposed to be.

As long as I can remember, I have always had very detailed and almost cinematic dreams. I never really gave it much thought. Doesn't everyone? Everyone occasionally dreams of people that they never met, places they haven't actually visited or things that aren't real, don't they? Amazing things like; mythical creatures, adventures, friendship, magic, love, loss and sorrow. That's not weird, is it?

Yes, the dreams will occasionally leave me with a feeling that will linger for longer than appropriate, but the feelings that haunt me after such a dream are always easy to explain - logically speaking. I mean, who wouldn't feel miserable when dreaming about a shabby but friendly looking man being killed by a strange green light, or a blond girl being mauled by an animal of some sort. The only thing is, I never even knew any of those people. They are just some fragment of my imagination.

Being sad about someone dying, even if you don't know the person - even if it _is_ just a dream, isn't that hard to phantom. But being so overwhelmed with sadness that you are incapable of getting out of bed for two days, definitely isn't normal. By the way. The friendly looking man and the blond aren't the only ones dying. There are many more. I try not to keep count.

Strangely enough, the dreams of people dying aren't even the worst ones. The worst one is about… Okay, I'm not ready… I will get back to that.

Dear diary

All right. I think I'm ready now, but let me just start by explaining what that particular dream did to me and why it was so much worse than any of the others.

It… how can I describe it… It confused my reality. Both during and after dreaming, I couldn't seem to grasp what was real at what wasn't. The experience kept me prisoner for what felt like hours, shifting between dream and reality: what was real and what simply couldn't be real. Like falling in and out of sleep for an eternity while struggling to keep the emotions that the dream caused at bay and not lose myself completely in my own mind. Like slowly losing a battle against sanity where you ultimately drew the shortest straw.

Okay – the timeframe in which this happened is a little fuzzy. One moment I was alone _knowing_ I was awake, the next _he_ was there and it felt so real, which, of course, it couldn't be! There was no sign of anyone entering my apartment, no sign whatsoever that _anyone_ had been in my room.

It is not so much the dream itself. The dream is rather harmless… well… maybe not that harmless per say, but not much worse than many of the other dreams that I have had. No. It is more about what the dream did to me - and might do to me when I revisit it… To be honest, it scares the hell out of me! I can actually feel my sanity slipping through my fingers just writing about it!

Luckily a dream like that only occurred once. But the effect it had on me was just so… agonizing. Which is also why I decided to look up a shrink. Looking back, it might have been a bit rash, especially considering that it might very well have been a _onetime only _experience. True, my other dreams were kind of holding me back in some sense, but nothing I couldn't handle. My shrink thinks it might be a gateway to some suppressed experience. Maybe it is. I am suffer from memory loss after all. But then my dreams have to be distorted and exaggerated, they simply can't be real!

Alright… so I might be stalling now… trying to avoid having to actually put that particular dream into writing. It is strange really. I'm terrified to face it, but at the same time I'm terrified that I might lose it if I put it into mere words…

I think I have to take a break now. I will be back. I promise!

Dear diary

So. About that dream. As I mentioned earlier. The incident, or the dream, didn't happen consequently. It was broken into fragments disrupted by my mind returning to my empty bedroom as I can see it from my bed. I will try to piece the fragments together. Try to make it whole.

Oh heavens. I can't believe I'm actually doing this!

For sanity!

… It all comes back to those eyes. Those stormy grey eyes.

I remember dreaming about them and their owner, on earlier occasions, but somehow it was always in _past tense_. I know. It sounds weird. How can a dream be in past tense? But that this is the only way to describe it.

Moving on…

In the dream I find myself walking down a crowded street. There are people all around me, walking towards something or away from something. Me? I'm not sure if I have a destination, I don't remember.

All of a sudden my eyes are caught by a pair of stormy grey once, looking at me as if they know me. They are captivating and hold my gaze without shyness, without looking away. It makes me feel vary and I lower my gaze for a brief moment. When I look back they are gone and unmanageable sadness overwhelms me. Why did I look away? Why didn't I pay more attention? It feels as if something important has been taken from me.

In the blink of an eye I find myself sitting at a coffee table in front of a small café. I look around, and there they are. The stormy grey eyes. This time I don't look away. I hold the gaze intently. After many long volatile minutes, I risk taking a closer look at their owner.

I'm sure not every female on the planet would perceive him as I did, but oh my! His silvery blond hair falling messily down his forehead. Those broad shoulders highlighted by an expensive looking grey V-neck sweater a white collar sticking out. That posture that simply radiates confidence and masculinity. It captivates me more than anything I have ever seen. And his face… that marble skin and those mesmerizing grey eyes… it leaves me breathless.

My heart beats rapidly as he approaches me. His eyes locked on mine. As he reaches me he grabs my hand and pulled me out of the chair. Then he snakes his arm around my waist gripping tightly. The familiarity of his grip hits me almost as hard as the familiarity of his scent.

Leaning in he whispers "Not here love. They might see us!" Not able to withstand, I follow him around the corner and find myself in the alley behind the café. There he turns to me and drags me in for a hug. I feel a strange pull behind my navel, and all of a sudden we are in my apartment, inside my bedroom.

"Salazar knows how much I have missed you" he breathes into my ear as he pressed me against the closed bedroom door. "I didn't think you would remember me after what they did to you!" his words are nothing more than a whisper, filled with regret. Even though I have no idea what he is talking about, his presence fills me with longing and I desperately drag him closer to me, tilting my head upwards, searching for his mouth, some kind of instinct taking over.

His lips meet mine and a strange feeling of excitement and familiarity washes over me. "My love" he whispers in-between kisses. "My lioness.'' Greedily he presses his body even closer to mine, and I feel the doorknob pressing uncomfortably against my back. It is the pain caused by the doorknob that finally gives me the willpower and mental activity to react to what he is saying. "It must be some kind of mistake" I breathe "I am not your love. At least I don't remember if I am, or was..."

I regret instantly as he steps away from me, horror and shock distorting his beautiful features. His sudden absence and the look in his eyes strike me with incomprehensible fear and a sense of irreversible loss.

"I thought… the look you gave me… that kiss!" the crushing devastation that is reflected in his eyes weigh down on me as a physical force and I reach out to touch him, but then everything escalates… I have to stop now…

Dear diary

It has been three days since I last wrote in you. I can't believe I actually wrote all of that in one sitting! This is so much harder than I thought it would be! Unfortunately, the worst has yet to come and I really dread this part. But I do think it might actually be helping, so now I'm just going to jump into it.

… He is standing there with that soul crushing look on his face. It feels as if an old wound is being ripped open and I reach out to touch him. This is when it happens…

A crack interrupts us and two things happen very quickly after one another. A strange silvery light shoots from the hand of the guy with the stormy grey eyes and I feel a strange tingling sensation, as if someone just cracked an egg over my head. Then I am thrown against the wall by a huge shockwave. My head whips forcefully against the wall and my vision turns blurry. As I slide to the floor I can only vaguely see the outline of three shadowy figures in in the middle of the room. One of them scrambling around on the floor.

It is the guy with the stormy grey eyes. I recognize his silver blond hair like a lit torch. He is on all fours on the floor desperately searching the ground for something, and that is when the two other figures start firing strange lights at him. Just for fun, it seems, because he doesn't stand a chance from where he is sprawled on the floor, face down, now screaming in agony.

I try to move. All of my being is crying for me to get up, to help him, but my head is heavy and clouded. I blackout, and when I finally return to consciousness I see him hovering above the ground in front of the two, which I can now identify as tall figures in long black garments.

Thick ropes are coiled tightly around his body like snakes. One of the ropes is twisted around his neck, forcing his head back. The two hooded figures are talking with each other as if they were just having a relaxed conversation. One of them lazily lifts his arm, pointing at the guy with the silver hair, and without another warning I hear an agonizing scream as a rapid red line appears across his chest, actually spraying heavy drops of blood across the ceiling, the wall just above me and then blooming out across his chest.

I try to scream, but the hoarse whimper that escapes my lips is easily drowned by his excruciating screams as the hooded figure keeps slashing deep wounds in his flexed body. Then I try again, with all that is within me, to get up, to fight, but once again I disappear into the darkness.

There is so much blood. Splatters on the wall, on the ceiling and a pool on the floor, below where he is still hovering. At that moment, the sun breaks through the clouds outside my window, and its rays hit the glistening surface and bathes the room in light. If it hadn't been so heart wrecking, life ending, indescribably devastating, it could have been beautiful. Like confetti. Or rose pedals.

He is hanging lifeless in the middle of the room. Turning. Turning. Turning like a ragdoll on a string. There are slash wounds all over his body, smiling mockingly at me. There is no way to tell if he is still alive. But he has to be. He can't be dead. I'm sure I would know. Weakly I try to get up, but again, I feel my grasp on reality slowly slipping through my hands.

"Where is the girl?" I hear one of the hooded figures say moments before I pass out once more. "The Malfoy boy must have protected her somehow" the other replied, "should have protected himself instead" the first one said with a rough laughter, giving the lifeless body a violent push. "And we just leave her here, right?", "yeah, that's what she said. She will have forgot everything as soon as we leave, it's the Malfoy traitor they want" then I slip into unconsciousness.

When I finally wake up, I am lying in my bed. There are no blood splatters on the walls or the ceiling. No pool of blood where he hung. No evidence _whatsoever_ pointing in the direction that anyone has been in my apartment except me. There is no logical explanation for all of this. Nothing that points in the direction of this being anything but a dream. Yes, a horrific nightmare, but still, just a dream. And yet my heart refuses to believe what my brain has concluded: that I am mad and in dire need of help.

It felt so real, and yet it couldn't have been. Hopefully, one day, I will be able to escape my mind and go back to living my life. A normal life that I can't even recall having ever lived and that I am not even sure is worth living.

With a loud sigh, she closed the diary in front of her and placed the pencil neatly next to it. Leaning over the table she rested her head in her hands rubbing her sore eyes. She had expected tears, but instead her eyes feel dry and irritated. A small shudder crept down her spine and a single sob escaped her lips, closely followed by more. She hadn't even realised you could cry without shedding tears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Visitors**

Even though she had expected it, the revival of the dream through the written word had brought her down. Two whole days she spent lying in bed overwhelmed by anxiety, not daring to leave the bedroom, let alone the apartment. She hated the weakness that this had revealed in her. There was a constant feeling of shame and disgust for the lack of control she had over her own mind and body. She was stronger than that! She had overcome worse! Being all alone at the hospital after the assault had proven that to her.

Finally, the anxiety loosened its grip on her and she regained control. Swallowing her pride, she decided to revisit the shrink.

Looking at her from across the coffee table the shrink had assured her that she was on the right path. That the weakness was what made her human. That is wasn't something that could be controlled, but instead something that could be tamed when you got to the core of it. She knew all of that, but she hated that it actually helped when he said it.

The following days she fell into her routine, returning to her usual dreams. She went to the library where she worked part time. The job was an arrangement made by the program for _head injuries and rehabilitation_. It was a simple job; she had to find requested books and to put those away that were returned. The job was a perfect match for her, and her coworkers were all very pleasant. They would initiate small talk about popular tv shows and books, inviting her to lunch and even to join them at _out of office_ gatherings, but most importantly; they never commented when she didn't show up for days at a time. While they were all nice to her, she never truly made an effort to get to know any of them. She would simply nood or smile, talking as little as possible. Honestly, it was beyond her why they put up with her.

Even though she wished she had the capacity to open up to her coworkers, she liked it at the library, in the quiet among the books. Especially the dusty basement with all its forgotten treasures. Sometimes she would sit between two shelves on the cold and dirty cement floor, closing her eyes and inhaling the exuicid scent of all the old books surrounding her. She would sit there until the automated light turned off and everything would be cloaked in total darkness. In the darkness the scents always seemed somehow different to her. They reminded her of something that she couldn't quite remember. Something that brought her back to a happier time. A time before the assault.

It had been a scary and lonely time in the hospital. She remembered nothing from before it happened. Only pain and darkness. Some chineese tourists had found her in an ally. Beaten up and with a major skull fracture. A mugging gone terribly wrong. Only good thing was that she apparently hadn't been sexually assaulted.

The weeks and months that followed had led to a miraculously physical recovery, but beyond the physical pain was the pain of loneliness. Neither friends nor family had turned up at the hospital claiming the girl who had lost her memory. Either they didn't care about her or she didn't have any. She chose to believe the latter.

It was just her. Her broken mind and of course; the dreams. She had come to terms with it - not remembering who she was, where she came from, or even her name. It was odd not knowing one's own name. The nurses had helped the best they could, trying to jumpstart her memory by listing one name after the other. But nothing ever really clicked. She always felt is was something with an H or maybe a J. Like Jane or Joan or Jean. She had chosen Jean. It felt right, if not entirely.

Fumbling to get the keys in the lock while balancing a chineese takeout container in one hand, trying to keep her shoulder bag from sliding of her shoulder _and_ the book currently sandwiched between her arm and her torso from dropping to the floor, she finally managed to open the door. Stepping inside, she quickly closed the door, bolted and locked it.

Hanging the bag by the shoulder strap on its usual hook, the jacket next to it, then neatly positioning her shoes next to each other beside the mat, she entered the living room. Takeout in one hand, the battered book in the other.

Every now and then the library discarded books that were either too old, too worn or simply had too many copies to loan ratio. Her librarian coworkers, apparently noticing both her limited funds and love of books, offered her the books before tossing them or setting them aside for the annual library sale. Grateful but also a bit overwhelmed, she almost always accepted the books. Over the last year this lead to quite a collection. Her, otherwise empty apartment, now held a bookshelf containing everything from classics, best-sellers, fiction and nonfiction.

Although she would devour almost any book, her favorite genre was history or historical fiction. Reading about the past, both as a whole and from the eyes of individuals, gave her a feeling of belonging. Somehow she felt that it invoked her right to be a part of this world, despite not remembering more than fragments from a long past childhood and not much else.

Today she had been gifted a book called "A woman in Berlin". It was a diary (how fitting!) written by a german woman in the weeks prior to and during the Soviet invading Berlin in 1945. As far as she understood, it was a gruesome portrayal of the hardship of the german people as the tortured and vindictive red armey overtook the bombed out city.

Propping the book against a juice carton she started reading while digging into her now lukewarm dinner. Leading the fork to her mouth without registering what she was actually eating, she was suddenly disturbed by the doorbell. Startled she dropped the fork into the food below, resulting in a splash of sweet and sour sauce emerging from the container, staining her cheek and parts of her bushy hair. Cursing, she wiped the sticky sauce from her cheek and grabbed a napkin trying to remove the sauce from her hair while approaching the door.

Almost certain it would be her next door neighbour wanting to remind her that it was her turn to wash the stairs, she approached the door. Unbolting and unlocking it, she plastered a wide smile on her face, hoping that it would somehow take the edge off the situation. But as the door swung open, her smile vanished.

Three people stood outside. A young woman with beautiful long red hair in front of two young men; a tall redhead and a dark haired guy with glasses.

Confused, and a little worried she asked: "Can I help you?"

"Bloody hell… it really is her..."

The young woman elbowed the redhead behind her and cleared her throat; "Hi, my name is Ginny, this is my brother Ronald" she gestured to the tall redhead, "and this is Harry" she pointed her thumb in the direction of the dark haired guy next to her. "I'm not sure if you remember us, but we are… we used to be friends of yours."

Totally flabbergasted and momentarily at a loss of words she could do nothing but stare at them, overwhelmed by a feeling of panic, confusion and... deja vu. Why did these strangers appear so familiar? _we used to be friends of yours… _was there a possibility that they could be someone from her past?

"Well... It sure looks like her, even if she doesn't seem as talkative as I remember her" the tall redhead said, a small smile playing along the corners of his mouth.

Somehow his eas and lighthearted manner had a soothing influence on her, and the panic was subdued for now, leaving only confusion and the strange sensation of having already lived this particular moment before.

The dark haired guy with glasses couldn't help but smile, a very sincere smile, but also somehow sad. "If I'm not mistaken, you suffered some kind of memory loss not long ago" he asked looking at her with piercing green eyes.

Brows wrinkled, she could do nothing but stare at the three familiar strangers.

"Maybe it would be better if you let us come in Hermione" the young woman named Ginny said looking at her with tenderness.

Hermione… that name clicked something in her mind and all of a sudden the room started spinning. Recognizing the crippling anxiety, she leaned against the door to steady herself, images started flashing before her eyes. Images of places she had never visited, of people she didn't know and the faces of three young people; two boys and a girl, all three somewhat similar to the three strangers currently standing in front of her.

Closing her eyes she breathed in through the nose giving herself time to calm down. Where these people really someone from her past? It seemed somehow too good to be true. Against all better judgement she stepped aside and let them into her tiny apartment.

With the four of them crammed into her combined kitchen and living room, an awkward silence filled the room.

"So… would you care to explain why you come knocking at my door, invading my privacy, claiming that we know each other?" it sounded way harsher than she had intended.

"I think you might wanna sit down for this" the tall guy with the red hair exclaimed while motioning towards a chair.

"Ronald, was it?" she held her hand out towards the male redhead. "Ron, actually. If you don't mind. You only call me Ronald when I've messed up" he grinned sheepishly. "Okay, Ron then. I think I prefer to stand" she said, again, way harsher that she wanted to. Ron just shrugged. There was an awkward pause.

"So ehmn. Where to start?" the guy with the glasses said, raising his eyebrows looking at his two companions.

"Yeah... We definitely should have planned this better" Ron muttered under his breath, leaning against the refrigerator door.

Stepping forward Ginny said. "I think we should just jump right into it" she looked at her in a business like manner. "You losing your memory wasn't an accident. It was deliberate. Done by someone who wished to make you forget who and what you really are"

"Come again?"

"Yeah.. That accident, or whatever it was that you think caused your memory loss, was just a coverup for what really happened" the guy that wasn't Ron said.

"Okay, first of all. What was your name again?"

"Harry"

"Alright, Harry. So what you are suggesting is that someone erased my memory, and then bashed me in the head with something heavy to cover up that they erased my memory? How would that even work? You can't deliberately erase someone's memory!"

The three of them looked at each other.

"You kind of can though" Ron said

"But she's not completely wrong" Ginny replied

"Funny how she can be right even though she has no idea what she is talking about!" Harry said smirking. "That is so typical Hermione". Both Ginny and Ron smiled at that, and then Harry said:

"No, you are right. It would be impossible to erase such a huge part of someone's memory without causing significant damage, ultimately turning the brain into… well… mush. But apparently someone worked out a way to erase everything connected to a specific theme, or event, and that is what we assume they did to you."

"Except" Ginny interjected. "We believe that your memory wasn't erased, but merely suppressed". She paused. "Do you ever have weird flashbacks or lifelike dreams about people and places that you do not recognize?"

Looking from one to another she nodded cautiously.

"Those dreams are not just dreams. They are your repressed memories"

"That would explain the chronic feeling of deja vu that I am experiencing right now when looking at the three of you..." They nodded in unison.

"Jep. We are your best friends" Ron said, sounding somewhat proud.

"So… what you are saying is that I used to know you guys until someone erased or..." she quoted with her fingers in the air "..._repressed_ you out of my memory?"

"Yes! Exactly!" Ron exclaimed "I knew she would get it!" he looked around with a huge grin on his face.

"But what I don't understand is… If you, as you claim, are my best friends… where were you this past year… where were you when I was at the hospital? When I was all alone!"

They all went very silent. Then Ginny spoke up.

"There is absolutely no excuse for us not being there for you, but there is an explanation. If you care to hear it I would love to tell you"

She thought she would be angrier. But she wasn't. All she felt was relief. And and overwhelming sense of curiosity.

"Please explain" she said

"The four of us used to go to school together. A private school if you will. After our last year in the summer of 1999, you announced that you needed some time off. You said that you wanted to live with your parents in Australia for a while, figuring out what you wanted to do with your life. You left with the promise to keep in contact. Sure, we missed you, but we all received letters from you on a regular basis. You kept declining our invitations though, but with you and my brother just splitting up, all of us assumed that you just needed the space. Then, in the summer of 2000 we decided to pay you a surprise visit. Showing up at your parents, we soon realized that you weren't there, and hadn't been since september of 1999. Naturally that had us worried. Especially with the rumors about… well about the people erasing minds and all that… well… we have been searching for you ever since, and now… now we finally found you..." her voice cracked and she looked away.

This was again followed by an awkward silence, only interrupted by a few sniffles from Ginny.

"...Now you know what happened. It's no excuse. We should have insisted on visiting you… that way we would have found out sooner, but we didn't…" Harry said, reaching out and caressing Ginny on the shoulder.

"Oh Hermione! We're so sorry" Ginny said, tears glistening in her eyes. No longer able to restrain herself Ginny leapt forward and embraced her in a hug.

After having been on the receiving end of an embarrassing, but still somewhat soothing hug from a total stranger, she composed herself.

"Overwhelming as this might seem, it does kind of make sense. At least I really want it to. My life has been a chaos of disappointment, confusion and loneliness the last year. If what you say is true, and I have no reason to believe it isn't, you might hold the key to a part of my life that I thought I had lost forever. I sure wish this would have happened earlier, but I will accept your apology and be happy that you are here now." she finished.

Silence fell. Then she added.

"What is it that you keep calling me? Hermione… is that my name?"


	3. Chapter 3

**That which must not be named**

Hermione Jean Granger. So, that was her name.

She couldn't help but feel a little proud that she had gotten the Jean part right. Hermione was an unusual name. No wonder none of the nurses had been able to guess it. Learning her real name wasn't exactly what she had expected it would be. She had hoped for full on recognition, but would have to settle for familiarity.

After learning her name, Ginny had suggested that they sit down. This time Hermione agreed.

The couch only held room enough for two, but with the two folding chairs at her kitchen table, they each had somewhere to sit.

Ginny plopped down on the couch, closely followed by Harry, who discreetly took her hand, confirming Hermione in her suspicion that the two of them were dating.

Ron and herself turned the folding chairs towards the couch.

"So… You are saying that someone deliberately erases people's minds..." Hermione said, matter of factly "Let's assume that this is actually possible. Why would they do that? And why would they do that to me?"

The three of them looked at each other. "Eh… because you are…" Harry began but trailed off. "Because you are part of a group of people that they disapprove of" Ginny interrupted.

Confused, but eager to get to the bottom of this Hermione kept digging: "Like a minority?"

"You could say that" Ginny confirmed nodding slowly. "For some reason they think that they are better than you, and that they have a bigger claim on the use of… eh… the use of _certain abilities_" Ginny finished awkwardly.

"That's why they try to stop you from using those abilities by erasing your memory" Ron contributed.

"That kind of makes sense" Hermione pondered. "But what is it exactly that I do that I am not supposed to do according to _those people_?"

All three became very silent. "I'm afraid that we can't tell you that" Harry said. Ron cut in: "We are concerned that the mentioning of the… the _thing_ might trigger the spell..." he was immediately cut off by Ginny shouting "NO!" Hermione looked startled at Ginny, whose eyes were wide with concern, as if expecting something terrible to happen.

"Okay…" Hermione said hesitantly. "That was… something..."

"Sorry about that. It's just that the mentioning of _that, _or anything to closely connected to it might trigger another memory loss" Harry said. "But apparently that might not be the case afterall".

"Right" Hermione said, slowly beginning to second guess her decision inviting three strangers into her home.

"But I'm not the only one whos memory was manipulated?" Hermione asked.

"Correct. There are 4 that we know off, but another 7 have been reported missing. All of them part of the same minority as you. All, unable to remember anything from the day they learned that… that they are part of the specific minority" Harry finished lamely.

"I see" Hermione said narrowing her eyebrows. "And there is no way you will be able to tell me about that minority that I'm apparently the ignorant member of?"

"No, I don't think so. It might trigger another memory loss" Ginny said. "At least that is the experience so far" she added.

"Can you at least tell me a little bit more about this minority. Are there many of us?"

"I think it's a couple of hundreds worldwide each year" Harry said looking thoughtful.

"Okay. So it's something we are born into" Hermione stated. "And we have special abilities? I can't think of any minority with special abilities" Hermione contemplated, "Is it part of something that others might consider a disability? Like autism, where you might be extraordinarily good at math?" she suggested.

"Not exactly" Ginny said. "Some people might consider it a disability..." Ron added gloomily

"The people who are erasing minds..." Hermione said slowly, as if trying to put the pieces together. "Is there something to it, or are they just ignorant?"

"Ignorant" Harry and Ron said in unison.

"So there is nothing to the claim? I mean. There is no legitimate reason for them to _not _want me to be part of their group? It's not like I have made an unreasonable claim or anything, and brought this on myself?"

"No!" Ginny exclaimed. "Like you said! You were born like this" Ginny said. "You have a right to be a part of our world!"

"_Our world_?" Hermione broke in. Again the faces of her guests turned uneasy.

"Right. Another thing that you can't tell me" the feeling of frustration and anger creeping in on her. Even though she kind of enjoyed the brainwork, it just seemed so unfair that these three strangers where withholding something this vital to her. "This is getting a little too silly for my liking. As intrigued as I am, this is leading nowhere. For all I know you could just be cruel strangers messing with me!"

As she had expected, her three guest protested wildly. Ron, throwing his arms out in objection hit the forgotten container of chinees food still placed on the kitchen table, resulting in a cascade of sauce, noodles and vegetables hitting him in the face and on the front of his sweater.

"Oh no! Look at this mess! I'm all sticky!" Ginny started giggling, and Harry soon followed. A noodle was dangling from Rons cheek and Hermione, trying to preserve herself in the seriousness that had been present just seconds ago, couldn't help it and soon joined the laughter.

"Yes yes! Very funny! Where is the bathroom?" Ron said angrily, picking the limp noodle from his face.

Pointing towards a door on the opposite wall Hermione moved her chair to let him pass. The door to the bathroom slammed shut and they all heard water splashing in the sink.

After a few more giggles silence fell. Hermione got up, grabbed a cloth by the sink and started cleaning up the mess. While scooping the cold and sticky remains into her hand she said:

"No, but seriously! Unless can provide me with real knowledge or evidence.. I don't know... Maybe a fotograf of the four of us together! I don't know.. Just something!" having finished, and now wringing the cloth in hot water from the fausset, she finally turned towards the two on the couch. "If not… I think you should all leave. I've been through enough".

The sadness was tangible in both their faces. Harry closed his eyes rubbing the lower part of his face. "I really wish we could Hermione! But we can't. There have already been made experiments with this. And all 4 of the affected individuals suffered severe relapses as soon as _it _or something related to it was mentioned!" Ginny said, the sadness obvious in her voice. "You just have to trust us!"

"But what if it's different with her?" Harry said silently, his hand still accros the lower part of his face, muddling his voice slightly. "Ron used the word _Spells_, that definitely should have had the same effect"

"I don't know" Ginny said hesitantly, and continued; "I don't think we should experiment with her like that. At least not here!"

"_Spells_? Is that a trigger word? You make it sound as if it is something supernatural" Hermione laughed, expecting the others to join in. But they remained quiet. Her laughter quickly faded. "Is it something supernatural?" They both looked at each other.

"You mentioned having strange dreams? Where you dream about places and people you don't know, right?" Harry asked cautiously.

Unable to say a word, Hermione just nodded. She did not like where this was going.

"Did those dreams by any chance also involve... " he hesitated "...magic?" Ginny gasphed, and once again looked at Hermione as if something terrible would occur at any moment.

Hermione didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. Maybe some of the things she dreamed of could be described as magic, that was something she had never really thought about.

"I think we should tell her" Harry said. "I'm not sure about this..." Ginny sounded genuinely worried now.

"I want to know! At this point I don't really care what happens!" Hermione said, feeling a strange sensation of hope and fear. "Everything I know is, that I can't keep on living like this." Something about this conversation scared the living daylight out of her but in a strange _deja vu_ like fashion.

Ginny looked at Harry, who nodded, took a deep breath and said:

"You were born with magical abilities... You are a Witch Hermione!"

For a few seconds nothing happened. Then Hermione's eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the floor.

Harry was the first at her side, just a second too late to catch her head, which hit the corner of the kitchen table with a thump. Carefully Harry picked her up and carried her to the couch. Hair sprawled around her, a nasty cash on her left temple, Hermione lay tens, eyes flickering and occasionally turning her head from side to side.

"What's going on here" Ron stood in the bathroom doorway looking at them in bewilderment, his hair dripping and his sweater darkened in patches on the front from his attempt to remove the stains.

"Harry told her that she's a Witch" Ginny said, struggling to hold back her tears. "What's happening to her?" she said, hand held up in front of her mouth.

"The spell is probably erasing everything that is connected to the information I just gave her" Harry said looking sick with worry and guilt.

"And there is nothing we can do for her?" Ron asked. Neither Harry nor Ginny submitted any sugestestions.

"We could at least heal that wound on her head" Ginny declared reaching underneath the back of her shirt to grab her wand fastened in a holster on her back. "I thought we agreed not to use magic while we are here!" Ron said, but Ginny had already retrieved her wand and was pointing it at Hermione with shaking hands. "Episky". As expected the wound closed up nicely, leaving only a mess of blood sticking to her skin and hair.

"Did you feel that" Harry said raising his hand in alarm. "I did" Ron said "It's as if a window was suddenly closed... or someone stopped humming…"

With a crack a cloaked figure appeared at the entrance door. Ginny, the only one who had her wand at the ready pointed it at the figure and shouted "Stupify", but it was too late. The figure had already vanished with a "Plop".


End file.
